THE PATCHWORK QUILT

By Natalie Whitted Price

Did Gran'ma ever tell you about the

patchwork quilt

That lies across the sofa in her room?

It is made from scraps of dresses that

she wore when she was young,

And some of them were woven on a loom.

Sometimes when it is raining and I

can't play out of doors,

She lets me spread it out upon the floor,

And as I choose the pieces I'd like 

to hear about,

She tells me of the dresses that she wore.

It isn't just the dresses that Gran'ma

tells about,

It's the things that happened when

she had them on.

And almost ev'ry piece that's in that

dear old patchwork quilt,

Holds the mem'ry of a sorrow or a song.

Oh, things were very wonderful when

Gran'mama was young,

You ought to hear her tell about it all,

The ladies all were beautiful, the 

children all were good,

And the men were all so gallant and so tall.

She calls the quilt her mem'ry bed,

and ev'ry little piece

Is a flower blooming in its scented fold.

There are red ones for the roses and

blue for "don't forgets"

And yellow ones for sunflowers of gold;

There's one she calls sweet lavender,

that smells like babies' clothes.

And one of purple like the sunset skies,

I never ask about these, or the gray 

one like the rain,

For when I do dear Gran'ma always cries.

My Gran'ma told me once that life is

just a patchwork quilt,

Of births and deaths and marriages and things,

And that sometimes when you're

looking for a lovely piece of red,

You only find a knot of faded strings,

But she says that red is redder when 

it's by a piece of brown,

And gray is not so gray by sunny gold;

Oh, I hope I'll have a lovely patchwork

quilt like Gran'mamma's,

To show to little children when I'm old.

NOTE:  THERE ARE SEVERAL POEMS, MANY DONE BY LOCAL PEOPLE, WHICH I WILL POST OVER TIME.  YOU MAY RECOGNIZE SOME OF THE AUTHORS.